


The Exhibit

by SarsarShamsir



Series: The Smithsonian Sketches [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Howling Commandos mentioned, Kid Fic, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Steve Rogers mentioned - Freeform, Surgery, Teddy Bears, Wheelchairs, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, orthopedic surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarsarShamsir/pseuds/SarsarShamsir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Asset visits the Smithsonian and is noticed too. He isn’t the only one there to see living history for himself. </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exhibit

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I toned things down, but there are a few period appropriate oaths and swears. None are George Carlin's words. 
> 
> Many thanks to blcwriter for the fic recommendations, the encouragement and the beta!

\-----

1. 

\-----

The Asset did not know why he kept going back to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. The man had called him “Bucky” and "James Buchanan Barnes.” He had said he was his friend, and he would not fight him...so he had gone looking for any information about this "Barnes" person and the target designated "Steve Rogers." 

 

He had vanished into the city after the wreck of Project Insight. He had pulled the target from the river. His programming— it was not, it was not—

 

There were no senior handlers with codes at the alternate safe house. 

_Lucky Bucky! What did that exclamation mean?_

 

He had obtained weapons, clothes, identification, money, and other supplies at the safe house. He had bound and gagged the agents and junior handlers trying to regroup there. Using one of the agent's phones and voice modulator, he called a local police force that had not been infiltrated, then left that phone behind. 

_Why had he not killed these security risks? Why had he not killed the target? Each question seemed to lead to another question._

 

In prep, the last handlers had used "Google” to show the target in many photographs and films, so he had also taken laptop computers. 

_What does Google mean? Entering “define google” in Google — how does that make sense?_ _How does he know to use laptops? How does he know to remove embedded trackers?_  

 

He had vanished in plain sight into the city. He had broken off the lockbox of a house for sale in an anonymous, bustling neighborhood, hidden the “For Sale” sign, settled in. 

 

Over the next week he had taken the different laptops to coffee shops, diners, and  libraries. He had used Google to research the target “Steve Rogers,” “Captain America,” “James Buchanan Barnes” and “Bucky Barnes.” There had been so much information, pages and pages of images, articles, videos, fic and music. He had been lost.  

_What are "fic?” I know this! They’re pulp stories. Google what are “pulp stories.” Speculative fiction? Science fiction and fantasy? Scientifiction? Why does each term lead to another new term to Google? Geez!_

 

The first entry though, had been an ad for  _Captain America: The Exhibit, The Living Legend & Symbol of Courage at The Smithsonian Institution_, [www.si.edu](http://www.si.edu). The description of the exhibit had been much more helpful than any that were listed in the first page of results. 

 

During the next two weeks, he moved around  Washington D.C., Alexandria, Baltimore, anywhere within 100-150 miles of the museum, hitting safe houses, capturing agents, calling any local uncorrupted major police precincts. At different times, in different disguises, he would visit  _The Exhibit_. He went through  _The Exhibit_  from the beginning to the end, backwards, by only looking at the "Steve” target....

_He's a friend, not a target, pal; never again a target! What is that voice?_

 

Also by only watching all the films, even by noting the things that made his head hurt, his eyes water, or the corner of his mouth curl up. 

_Why are they different every single time?_

 

\-----

2. 

\-----

Miriam Kunstler was bored. Bored, so very, very bored in one of the most interesting places in the world. Mom had banished her from her office and her Mom’s awesome design and graphics computer.  Suddenly, Miriam was in the hall, pushed gently out the door, with her Mom telling her to go bother the volunteers and the guards she’d made friends with, checking to make sure Miriam had money, key cards and all her other necessities, pecking her on the top of her head with a final, firm “Scram for a while sweetie. Have fun!” 

 

She went and raced her chair up and down the main East-West basement corridor. It always made her want to shout “Whee!” every time she sped up and down that hall. That fun lasted about fifteen minutes, and then she took the employee elevator upstairs. It let out right near the main information kiosk facing across from the Spirit of St. Louis. Miriam stopped and chatted with the volunteers and guards nearby. Then she wandered into her favorite exhibit. Once again she reminded herself that the exhibit on the  _Science of Star Trek_  was still on her list of things she wanted to see while she was also visiting Mommy’s big show for school vacation week. They’d already done the serious stuff on Sunday, when they’d gone to the Holocaust Museum. Miriam still did not quite get why that made Mommy feel so sad. She’d cried about Miriam's great-grandparents, but they’d actually survived the camps. Miriam just assigned it as one more thing that adults couldn’t properly explain without prefacing it with _when you’re older you’ll understand_. 

 

“Oh poop!” She sighed in disgust for all the Mommys. "I am _not_ using Mommy anymore!” she thought. “I’m a much too grown-up ten now for Mommy! It is time to use Mom.”  

 

She thought of the bone graft surgeries, those three weeks in the hospital, the terrible toe cramp when she’d overheard the nurse telling her parents she’d had enough painkillers to knock out a grown man. She blushed to think of all the embarrassing restroom incidents with Mom and Dad, even the peeing in the bed that time when no one heard all her yelling that one morning. 

 

Miriam thought, "Pain and sadness make people older on the inside, like Anne Frank and Johnny Gunther*, right? So, no more calling Mom, Mommy— well, unless I really, really need to. Plus, I must be pretty grown up for Mom not to inflict Pollyanna and the glad game on me when she assigned me books to make me stop feeling sorry for myself. *ooh* Don’t forget to tell the cousins that Wikipedia is very good to look up adults’ many odd literary and cultural references. *whoah* Been hanging out in Mom’s office and with her co-workers too much this week.” She remembered how she had felt so terrible and been so angry for weeks when she got home from the hospital; though it had always been clear that she wasn’t dying or terribly ill, just temporarily not walking. She considered, “That really was not a Mommy type thing to do, now was it? To give me books and take me outside, tell me to scream, cry and shout as much as I wanted to, but just one last time. So, no more Mommy, just plain Mom." 

 

Miriam knew just where she was going in the exhibit. Her Mom was one of the curators who’d worked on it, and Miriam had been there every day this week. She went to the theater, to watch the movies first. Then she went and looked at the display cases with the letters and the signed posters. Then she went up front and played with the interactive displays. Finally, she settled into her spot, where she’d park her wheelchair at an angle so she could watch people without them staring at her or painfully tripping on her feet. At this point, she didn’t really need to listen to a guide, or read the carefully written labels, she was more interested in watching people react to his story. Then she'd draw the visitors. There’d been at least one really interesting looking person to sketch every day of her visit so far. 

 

Except for today, because of all the additional educational activities for the school vacation week, it was mostly kids and harried parents, which wasn’t interesting at all. Boring, boring, boring— wait, _not boring_ , not at all. Something is strange here. She dug out her sketchbook and started drawing the man’s profile, like she’d been practicing. 

 

\-----

3. 

\-----

On Thursday, the third week in April, he was identified. 

 

He got caught by a little girl in a wheelchair with plaster casts covered in drawings and various names up to her knees on both her legs. He had gotten a close look at the drawings on Monday. They showed her lower leg bones, with pieces taken out of the tibias, and pieces the exact same size hovering just under her talus bones. He'd seen her each time he'd been there that week. She'd been a fixture in _The Exhibit_ and was no longer considered a threat by his surveillance programming. 

_How had he managed to discount the threat of being discovered by a child?_

 

There were so many children visiting _The Exhibit_  that week; how could one child pick out the same man with the varied prostheses, makeup, stubble and beards, lifts, clothes and hats each day?  

_Wrong move pal. She’s only maybe three feet tall in that chair, so the disguise might not be working from her angle. Plus, children see with fresh minds and eyes; this girl is all eyes, didn't you see the sketchbook? Stevie had a sketchbook like that {lip curl}. Wait, is “Stevie” a variant of “Steve?”._

 

He had been standing in front of the _A Fallen Comrade, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, Bucky Barnes 1917-1944_  display.   

_Hey pal, that's you or if you prefer, us; you can say "me, myself, and I." Come on, try it. "Me, myself and I, Are all in love with you, We all think you're wonderful, We do”  What_ — _what was that? Who is "Lady Day"?_

 

Bold as you please, only looking straight ahead at the display, the girl rolled her chair up next to his right, and said "You're my favorite Howling Commando sir.”  

_Oh hellfire and damnation! Don't call me sir recruit!_

 

The knife in his right sleeve was suddenly concealed in his hand. He could, he could stop  _—_

_Holy Mary! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW, PAL!_

 

Before he could unfreeze much less sheathe the knife, she said, "I won't tell. No one would believe me anyways." 

 

He said "I'm afraid you're mixed up little miss." 

 

She points and says, “I’ve been sitting over there in my chair for a week. I’m young, I'm not stoopid. Though I feel real dumb that I drew you every day before I realized you were the same person. My Mom always says I'm all eyes, but I must've been blind." 

_C'mon Buck, pal, c'mon breathe. Yeah, like that; inhale, exhale, and again. You can deal with Little Miss Boston there._

 

Then with increasing excitement, she starts asking one question after another, hardly pausing to breathe at all. "Why have you been coming here since Monday? Where, where have you been? Whoah, did you have amnesia from falling from the train? Wait, were you frozen like him? Did you hear about Hydra? Maybe, wait, did you come back to help him? Hey, does anyone else know you're alive? Does Cap' know you're alive?" 

 

He somehow cannot help it, he flinches at that last one. 

 

"Umm, are you hiding from him? Ooh, are you on a secret mission?"  

_Image of a small, dark haired girl— a sister— Rebecca— Becca? Was there nothing about Becca here? It doesn't say what happened to her in the exhibit pal...._

 

"Anyone ever tell you you're a nosy thing, Little Miss Boston?" 

 

She snorts, then says sarcastically, “Umm, yeah, like every-body, all the time, Mister. Second, seriously, like, really, you're going to point at my accent? Go ahead, Mr. Brooklyn.”  

_Smart kid, throwing the Brooklyn back at you pal. You’re going to have to put her off somehow, so she can’t get hurt or lead Steve to you right away. No way she buys we’re not ourselves._

 

He kneels down on one knee, turns to look straight in her face, and says "Look kiddo, please forget that you saw anything like what you think you saw, and don't tell any stories either, to anyone. I’m on a mission without Cap’, but loose lips and ‘stoopid’ people sink ships. {lip curl}" 

_That thing you call {lip curl} is a smile, fat-head._

 

He gets up, turns to leave, and she says "Wait!" She scrabbled at the back of her chair, trying to reach the pack hanging off the handle bars. "Umm, I have something for you Mr. Brooklyn." 

 

There's a shiny, see through bag in her hands. A teddy bear in a blue jacket with lots of buttons wearing  a _felt rifle_ on its back?

 

_What the hell is that?!_

 

She looks up at him expectantly, like he should understand why she would be giving him this very odd thing. 

 

"It's a Bucky Bear. For y... uh your kid, Mr. Brooklyn. My Mom bought me a new one this week. I don't need it, really, but maybe y... uh your kid needs something to cuddle?" 

 

Softness caresses his right hand as he reaches into the bag to touch the bear. A memory— _is that what that is?_ — floats up of Becca giving him her worn soft rag dolly by hiding it in his duffle before shipping out. He'd had it with him until being captured at Azzano.  

_Damnit NO, don't remember that now, NO not now. STOP IT, you're scaring Becca! No wait, that’s not Becca, it’s Miss Boston. Look at her face and her leaning all the way back in her chair like that, holding tight to her sketchbook. Come on, try to smile with your eyes, pal._

 

He kneels down again, says "Thank you," smiles with his whole face, stands, and for the last time walks away from his display and _The Exhibit_.   

_There's that water again. Yeah, that’s crying, she made you cry pal._

 

\-----

4. 

\-----

Miriam turns around to face the display once more. She opens her sketchbook and looks at the last profile of Bucky she’d drawn. Her finger dreamily re-traces the line— then smiles to herself, because _oh boy, is Mommy going to hate to have to re-design and fact check the exhibit from top to bottom, again!_

 

Then she smiles, big, even bigger than she does when she’s racing down the East-West corridor. She suppresses the WHOOP that wants to come out, but he isn’t quite gone yet and besides she said she’d keep it secret. 

 

 

_I know Bucky will find Cap, or Cap will find Bucky; they always did before. I won’t have to keep this secret forever. Mommy will love the reason why when she finally finds out. Dad and Ben will plotz when they hear!_

 

And Miriam Barnes Kunstler, whose older brother was named Benjamin Rogers Kunstler, whose great grand-parents had been liberated from a Hydra slave labor camp by Captain America, Bucky Barnes and the Howling Commandos, rolled out of the exhibit past the final displays of Captain America fighting aliens with the Avengers.  She decided it was about time to go across the way to the exhibit on the _Science of Star Trek_ because anything could happen today. If the heroic dead were alive, which four generations of Kunstlers remembered and honored, maybe even Vulcans were real. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Johnny Gaunt is one of the main characters in Death Be Not Proud, another book about a kid undergoing tragic circumstances beyond his or his parents’ control. 
> 
> Miriam has the bilateral fusion described [here](http://www.orthopediatrics.com/docs/Guides/tarsal_condition.html).  
> 
> [Me, Myself and I as sung by Billy Holiday,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8To-U1nTLWw&noredirect=1) who was also known as Lady Day. 
> 
> Miriam and her family, are mine. Of course Bucky, Steve, and the Bear are not. 
> 
> This is my first fic. Con-crit comments are especially welcome. I was inspired by the wide eyed kid and Steve in the Smithsonian in CA:TWS, reading multiple authors who made me want to try and do half as well, blcwriter saying “DO IT,” and yeah even a dollop of "I can do that too!" 
> 
> I may get a series out of this, since I’ve already got some dialog of Steve, Tony and JARVIS talking while watching the Smithsonian surveillance footage. Not promising anything, because I know very little yet about my writing process. 
> 
> ***Update***  
> Process wise, it looks like sometimes I finish drafts that I'm stuck on (two more parts, so far) practically at the same time after a month or two. The series is in beta.


End file.
